


Sunny Side Up

by koganewest



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Egg Metaphor, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Klance Pinefest 2019, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Orphan Keith (Voltron), POV Keith (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-10 23:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18670507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganewest/pseuds/koganewest
Summary: Keith had always thought his four-year bond with Lance couldn't be easily broken; it turns out that all it takes is a track meet, a McClain family Christmas, an Instagram DM, and a New Year's party to shatter their friendship — and consequently, Keith's fragile heart.





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m _only_ scrambling the eggs, and you can’t change my mind!”

From their living room couch, Keith grumbles in annoyance and tosses the pillow he'd been holding in the general direction of the kitchen, hoping to at least bother his roommate. His efforts are fruitless though, because Lance just keeps humming happily as he digs into the fridge for their carton of eggs. Of course, there was a slight possibility that Keith was being over-dramatic, but he was sick of arguing with Lance over this. 

“You’re an awful friend,” Keith whines, voice muffled by the arm he has over his face to block out sunlight. It’s too early for this. He just wants painkillers and greasy food to nurse his hangover from the previous night’s escapades, when Lance had forced him to a get-together with the intention of getting them both laid — as if Keith would even consider a one-night stand. He shakes away the thought and looks back at the eggs. “Can’t you make two different kinds? Please?” 

Keith already knows the answer, though. 

Whenever Lance cooked breakfast for the two of them, he insisted on making the eggs the way he prefered, which was scrambled. Although Keith doesn’t mind his eggs scrambled, he prefers them sunny-side up. He never gets his way, though, since Lance insists on doing things the way he wants. Keith hates it. It makes him snappy in the morning, and it just ends up being worse for the both of them. 

“Nope,” Lance responds, sounding smug, just as the same pillow Keith had thrown earlier soars through the air and into the coffee table with a dull thud, signaling Lance’s retaliation. “If you want it your way, then wake up early and do it yourself!”

The satisfaction in his tone is enough to make Keith groan and roll his eyes, before he snatches the pillow and tosses it back into the kitchen as a last-ditch attempt to win the argument. 

Still, Keith knows he’s lost this one. He sighs and vows to use the last of the eggs tomorrow. 

After listening to Lance’s humming for a bit longer, Keith opens his eyes to sit up from where he'd been sprawled out on the couch. He's just in time to see Lance carrying two plates of eggs in his hands, both scrambled with a side of toast. Keith rewards him with a smile — not too bright, though, due to his bitterness about both his eggs and his hangover. Lance returns it with a laugh and an eye roll. 

“I've got practice this morning,” Lance informs, as if he even had to; they know each other's schedules as well as their own. So Keith just nods tiredly as Lance nudges him aside, making room for himself on their small couch in front of their TV. “But I’ve got enough time for an episode of something, if you want.” 

The sentence elicits another fatigued nod from Keith. He takes his plate of food from Lance, and in exchange, hands over the remote. 

The food in front of Keith is so hot that it causes fog to accumulate on the lenses of his glasses, and even though the eggs aren't what he wanted, his stomach growls. Keith takes that as his cue to pick up his fork, and within a minute, he’s already scarfed down half of his breakfast. He groans in appreciation of Lance’s cooking, who is still flicking through their Netflix account, searching for a show. 

Lance is acting strange, he notices. There’s a slight, barely-perceivable shake to his hand, accompanied by a nervous crease between his brows. His humming, which was usually an indication of his cheery mood, is more of a jittery habit today. For a minute or two, Keith debates on asking him about it. 

But Lance has never hidden anything from Keith; he’ll talk about it when he’s ready, when he’s willing. 

At least, Keith hopes he will. 

Eventually, Lance settles on a sitcom they both have seen millions of times. Keith doesn’t mind, of course, since it’s one of the best episodes: his favorite character gives up his lifestyle of one-night stands for another character to prove his love. Keith admires the dedication. And maybe, _just maybe,_ he hopes for a love that strong — not that he’d ever admit it. 

For some reason, though, Keith is having a hard time staying awake. He blames it on the hangover and curls further into himself on his side of the couch. Lance eyes him warily, before turning back to the screen. His leg bounces with nervousness, and this time, Keith can’t ignore it. He asks hesitantly, “What’s up with you?” 

“Nothing,” is Lance’s immediate response, until Keith fixes him a disbelieving stare, which prompts Lance to start over. “I’m just nervous about my meet.”

That’s when Keith remembers what’s going to happen in a few days. Lance has the biggest event of his track career: his last meet. If he doesn’t meet his goal on Friday, he will never have another opportunity to do so. Though the name of the competition escapes Keith, he knows how important it is to Lance. As senior captain, he wants to break the 400-meter hurdle record. He’d been training for this day all season, and honestly, if Lance doesn’t break the record, Keith is worried for his mental health. The time Lance has spent preparing for the race makes him deserving of the victory, regardless of skill — in Keith’s (admittedly biased) opinion.

The silence that settles between the two is comfortable, despite Lance’s obvious preoccupation. They finish the rest of their breakfast before Keith realizes he never offered any way to dissipate Lance’s anxiety. 

When the episode finally ends and Lance gets up to leave, Keith finds himself grabbing his arm before he can even stop himself. “Lance,” he starts hesitantly, worried about making things worse. “Stressing about it now won’t do you any good.”

Lance just sighs and starts for the door again. 

Keith watches him as he goes, wishing he had the courage to grab Lance by the shirt collar and make sure he _knew_ just how confident Keith was in him, to make sure he _knew_ how much he deserved to win, to make sure he _knew_ how important he is, regardless of what happens at his race. 

Instead, Keith just stares at the back of Lance’s signature varsity jacket as he leaves. 

It only takes a few minutes to retrieve Keith from his brief daze, and that’s when he decides to ready himself for the day. It’s Sunday morning, or Laundry Day for the two students, so Keith decides to take the load upon himself.

As he’s about to leave, though, he considers making himself more presentable, just in case he runs into someone he knows. 

He takes a long, hot shower, with the scalding water hitting his back in a steady stream. He spends some time staring at the tiles and wall in front of him before washing his hair with Lance’s expensive shampoo, since his own bottle was empty. After making a mental note to buy more of the brand he likes, Keith gets out and dries himself off with a towel. Then, he puts contacts in, pulls on a fresh hoodie and sweatpants, and deems himself ready. 

He gathers the laundry and heads out the door. The towering pile of clothes he has to wash makes it difficult for Keith to lock the door, so he just opts not to. 

It wasn’t like they would be robbed if he left the door unlocked. After all, their apartment was far from impressive, especially when compared to a select few in the vicinity. Anyone with a shred of common sense could take one good look at their building and decide the effort wouldn’t be worth the reward. 

Still, the place has grown on Keith quite a bit. 

It’s the first monument of his self-sufficiency, and another milestone he can mark down for the records. It was the only place he and Lance could afford, based upon the miniscule allowance Lance receives from his family and Keith’s pitiful salary. 

In all honesty, Keith doesn’t really care what their apartment looked like, as long as he had Lance by his side. 

And at least the laundromat is within walking distance. 

The frigid air engulfs Keith, and he starts to think that maybe going outside in December without a coat was a ridiculous decision. It most likely would’ve been bearable if Keith’s hair wasn’t still wet, hitting him in the face as the wind blows. His teeth chatter pathetically. 

Keith begins to wish he hadn’t left. 

Bitterly, he blames Lance for leaving his laundry at the foot of his bed, waiting to be taken care of. He even starts to believe that Lance left it there as bait, knowing Keith would walk by and see it on the way to his own room — until he remembers that he knows Lance better than that. Keith knows he probably intended to get it done, but he was too busy or ended up forgetting about it. 

The rational side of Keith knows Lance wouldn’t guilt him into doing chores, but unfortunately, the rational side of Keith froze to death the moment he stepped through the threshold into the cold.

* * *

Time passes slowly in the laundromat, and he’s running late by the time he brings all the clean clothes back to their apartment. He’s got class in 15 minutes, but the walk is twenty. He jogs the whole way there and barely makes it on time.

But he doesn't really know why he rushed to get there. Keith _really_ hates his Mechanical Design class.

There will never be a day that he doesn't complain about the god-awful required class, swearing that it's the worst thing he's ever had to do. As a mechanical engineering major, there's nothing he can do to avoid the class, so he simply has to suffer through it. But the inevitability isn't going to stop him from hating every second. 

The worst part was that he _expected_ to enjoy the class. After all, it was a cornerstone of the engineering curriculum he chose based off his interests as a kid. 

When he was younger, his favorite way to spend free time was with his father in his driveway, working on various cars and trucks. In retrospect, Keith knows he probably wasn’t much help back then, but it made every day exciting for him. There was nothing better in his small world than working with his father. 

Every second Keith spends hating the class, he feels a pit of guilt form within his stomach. It feels a little bit like he’s betraying his father. After all, the memories of spare parts and greasy hands are about all Keith has left of him, and Keith doesn’t want to associate anything negative to those treasured moments. 

Still, it’s hard for Keith to not be miserable in a class that has lulled him to sleep on multiple occasions. 

Naturally, it certainly doesn’t help that his professor is unbearable, both as a teacher and a human in general. He’s a strict grader on the most difficult assignments, and he isn’t a fan of people without natural artistic inclination — a label that applies directly to Keith.

And, of course, it also doesn’t help that he’s starting to feel sick. 

At first, he thinks it’s just cold in the lecture hall. He’s covered in goosebumps and shivering, desperately wrapping his arms around himself in attempt to conserve heat. But when he looks at the rest of his class, no one seems to be shivering — even those who are sitting near the open windows. And that's when he starts to worry. 

If he gets sick this week, he’s fairly certain that Lance would murder him because he won’t want to catch whatever Keith has, and he refuses to compete if Keith isn’t there cheering. 

The last few minutes of the lecture are lost to Keith as he tries desperately to wish himself healthy, and once the class ends, he immediately returns to the apartment. Upon his arrival, he's almost sure that Lance isn't home, until his roommate calls out to him from his bedroom. “Hey, man, can you bring me a soda?”

Keith lets out a noise of agreement, albeit reluctantly. He knows he isn't going to be able to hide his sickness from Lance, who knows him better than anyone, so he grabs the soda and decides he can't risk talking to Lance. 

Lance’s bedroom door is wide open when he approaches, so Keith just drops the soda onto the dresser beside his door, avoiding letting Lance see his face. He's back out within seconds without even making eye contact with Lance, who's sitting on his bed with his laptop on top of his legs. 

“Hey, wait!” Lance calls after him, halting Keith's retreat to his own bedroom, where he can try his best to sleep off his symptoms. “Come back, I haven't seen you all day.”

“I'm tired, Lance,” he protests, half-refusing to turn around. In the end, he does, since it'll look more suspicious if he refuses again. He makes his way to the doorway again, leans against the frame with crossed arms, and glares at Lance. “What do you want?”

“Why are you so cranky today?” Lance pouts, leaning back against the wall and turning his attention from his laptop to Keith, who rolls his eyes dramatically.

“I didn't sleep well last night, and I’m exhausted now,” he lies, looking anywhere but Lance’s face. It’s hard for Keith to lie to him — even harder to not crack under his gaze. The best option he has is to pretend to be annoyed and get the conversation over with as quickly as he possibly can. “Maybe I’d be less cranky if you let me take a nap.”

“Jeez, okay,” Lance respods, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No need to snap at me!”

And with that, Keith turns on his heel and leaves the room as quickly as possible without looking suspicious. If Lance sees through it, he doesn’t show it. 

It takes Keith much longer than normal to actually situate himself and get comfortable, since he’s still shivering with chills. The blankets on his bed don’t seem to be enough to warm him, but it’s all Keith has in his room. If he risked grabbing more blankets, Lance would see and know he was sick — and that could not happen.

So Keith decides to just put on a lot of socks and wait it out. Luckily, it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up — four hours later, according to his clock — there are two blankets from Lance’s bed on top of him. Keith groans, throws a hand over his eyes to block the bright light from blinding him. There’s no reason for him to get up anytime soon, other than to make dinner for himself. Lance won’t be home until later that night, Keith remembers, so it’s a good time for Keith to rest without interruption. 

He lays around for nearly another hour on his phone, not really hungry enough to make food, when he notices a note on his bedside table.

_Went to class,_ it reads in Lance’s neat cursive writing. _I’ll be back with take-out and cold medicine. You_ cannot _be sick for my meet. I need my good luck charm there._

It's strange, Keith thinks, that even though he knows he's over-analyzing the words, the message still makes his stomach flip. 

Lance has a good luck coin. That's the good luck charm. He always insists that Keith keep it in his pocket whenever he watches Lance’s competitions. It's nothing more than that, Keith reminds himself adamantly. It's purely a superstition, absolutely meaningless. It was never anything more, and it never will be — to Lance, at least. 

The routine had started during Lance's first collegiate track meet, back when he and Keith shared a dorm their first year. During his high school competitions, Lance had always worn a pair of lucky socks, but he’d forgotten them that day. As he was panicking, Keith had calmed him down and gave him the nickel he had in his pocket. He’d said that the coin could be his new good luck charm if he ran well. 

In the end, Lance ran a personal best that day. From then on, that nickel has been his good luck charm, and he insists that Keith holds it for every race. 

Lance has specifications to this, as well. In his opinion, the good luck isn't at its strongest unless Keith keeps it in his right pocket, where he'd found the coin nearly four years ago. He has to wear the leather jacket he'd been wearing then, too. Lance also insists that Keith stands at the third-quarter mark of the race, 100 meters from the end, so he can finish strong. If anything isn't right, Lance refuses to run. 

Keith wants to believe Lance has a reason for being so picky, but he doesn't get his hopes up. Even if he isn't Lance's good luck charm, he's glad to at least be a part of it. 

It's best that Keith doesn't dwell on it. He decides instead to take a shower, in the hopes that the hot water will at least help drain his sinuses and warm him up. The likelihood is low, but at least he wants to put forth the effort so he looks moderately refreshed for later, when Lance gets back from his classes. 

Gathering a towel and some comfortable clothing, Keith heads off to their bathroom, hurrying to reach the carpet as his feet freeze on the linoleum. He shivers when he finally gets there, turning the water as hot as he can. 

A few minutes pass in which Keith stares blankly at the wall in front of him, eyes unblinking and unfocused. He can feel his headache dissipating a little as the water flows over him and down the drain. Briefly, Keith scolds himself for wasting water, knowing that Lance will complain about the bill when they get it in two weeks. Almost as quickly as he considers it though, he brushes it off. Lance often dramatically increases the electric bill in the winter — by turning up his thermostat excessively high — so Keith doesn’t feel too bad about this particularly self-indulgent shower.

By the time he’s washed the sickness off his skin, he realizes his 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner is still empty; he’d forgotten to buy a new one. He debates washing his hair with body wash until he remembers the lecture he got from Lance the last time he did that. 

So Keith reaches for the fancy shampoo, knowing he’ll hate himself when he goes to bed later smelling like Lance. 

When he gets out of the shower after a little longer, he finds himself even colder than he was before. He’s shivering much more violently, aching from head to toe, and having trouble keeping his eyes open. The pounding in his head just continues to intensify. On his way to the kitchen for painkillers, he contemplates — rather dramatically — if he should just jump out the window and let the cold pavement steal away his suffering. 

In short, Keith does not enjoy being sick. 

After pouring himself a glass of water, he downs a few ibuprofen. And just as he’s putting the cap on the bottle with shaky hands, he hears keys in the door, startling him. The pills spill all over the floor. 

“Aren’t you _not sick_? Just tired, right?” Lance asks smugly once he’s fully in the apartment. He’s got a few grocery bags in his hands, which he places on the counter before regarding Keith with a look that taunts _I told you so_. Keith only looks back at him long enough to glare, before crouching down to gather up the spilled medicine. Lance does the same, and within a silent minute, it’s all back in the bottle. 

“In fact,” Lance comments, and his tone is all teasing, “I thought you never got sick.”

“It’s your fault for—” Keith pauses to sneeze, “—for making me go out in the pouring rain to do your laundry!” He accuses, just as jokingly as Lance had been. Keith stands beside Lance, glaring from the corner of his eye as the other boy leans back against the counter, smirking like he’s got something up his sleeve. 

“You could have done it when it wasn’t raining!” Lance counters, then lowers his voice when he sees Keith flinch at his volume. “But I do feel bad, so I brought you some soup from that place downtown that you love.”

Keith’s eyes widen a little, not at the sincerity of the gesture — since after all, Lance is one of the kindest people he knows — but because that place is extremely expensive. They only go when they’re celebrating something important, like when they finished finals the previous year or when they put the down payment on the apartment. In short, the soup was completely unnecessary but ridiculously kind. 

Keith’s phone buzzes and the display lights up. He reads the notification from Instagram; it’s a follow request from the username @krolia.marmora, someone he doesn’t recognize. He doesn’t really think much about it when he presses accept, and nearly immediately, his attention is back on Lance. 

“Let's watch a movie,” Lance suggests as he hands the soup to Keith with a spoon, before retreating to the couch. “I wanted to see that new Keanu Reeves action movie.” 

“Okay, sure,” Keith agrees, even though he’s not a fan of action movies. He owes this much to Lance — plus, he had a hard time turning down Keanu Reeves. He follows Lance into the living room, grabbing a blanket on his way to keep himself warm. As Keith settles down on the couch, boneless and tired, Lance searches for the movie on his laptop next to him. He slumps into the pillows, clutching his soup in both hands. 

Lance briefly glances at him, as if he’s calculating. His eyebrows furrow before they relax, and he leans forward, gesturing for the blanket. 

“You’ll get sick, too,” Keith warns, even though every bit of him begs to accept Lance’s request to share the blanket. Nights like these, spent within the warmth and comfort of their shared apartment, are the ones Keith treasures more than anything in the world. For him, they define _home_.

“I’ve been using those vitamin-C packets. I’ll be fine,” Lance responds with a nonchalant shrug. For a moment he goes back to sifting through their Netflix, before smiling triumphantly at the movie he’d been looking for. He then scoots closer to Keith, tugging at the blanket and grinning mischievously. “Plus, if you get me sick,” he drawls smugly, “I can just get revenge. How do you think you’d look without eyebrows? Or, better yet, bald?”

Keith uses all his strength to shove Lance off the couch. “Touch my hair and I’ll replace your fancy shampoo with off-brand substitutes.”

The warning itself is enough to make Lance’s eyes open comically side, and he feigns mock betrayal with a dramatic gasp of horror. The expression itself sends Keith into a fit of laughter, hiding his face in his hands as Lance gawks. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” Keith challenges through interrupted laughter as he nudges Lance with his socked foot. “I won’t hesitate, bitch.”

It’s Lance’s turn to laugh hysterically, doubling over into himself. The sound of it lifts a weight from Keith’s chest, one he didn’t know he was bearing. He watches — with a wide smile of his own — as Lance gets up from where Keith has shoved him to the floor, jokingly dusts himself off, then situates himself on the couch so Keith’s tucked under his arm and into his side. The blanket barely covers the both of them. 

“Seriously, Lance,” he warns now, slightly more serious than he’d been before. “You can’t get sick before your big race. Just get your own blanket,” Keith advises, leveling a glare at Lance that warns he isn’t going to deal with him if he does end up catching the cold Keith has. 

“Shut up,” Lance lets out a dismissive huff of laughter and pulls Keith a little closer. Keith’s words betrayed his attitude, though, especially as he melts into Lance’s hold and lets himself relax into the gesture. “I’m trying to keep you warm — you’re literally shivering! Just let me be affectionate, jeez. It’s like we’re freshmen all over again!”

Keith smiles warmly even though Lance can’t see and curls a hand into the blanket. He thinks about what Lance had meant by the comment and recognizes how far they’d come. 

Back in their freshman year, Lance had always been extremely affectionate with Keith — even before they were close as friends. Keith couldn’t comprehend why his roommate was so insistent on hugging him when they got exciting news, throwing an arm over him when they were relaxing, and even sitting close on the couch when one of them had a bad day. The idea of physical touch for the sole purpose of comfort was ridiculous enough to Keith, not to mention being affectionate for no reason at all. That aspect of Lance was too enigmatic for Keith to comprehend, so he never really tried to understand it. 

Whenever Keith complained, Lance had always attributed it to his big family. He insisted affection was essential for a healthy relationship and, in turn, a life of happiness. Appalled whenever Keith questioned it, Lance just doubled his efforts. It seemed as if he’d do anything to get Keith comfortable enough to receive hugs, and eventually, seek comfort when he needed it. 

They’ve come a long way, Keith recognizes, as he rests his head on Lance and curls a hand into the blanket. He could lay on Lance without a moment’s hesitation, and in retrospect, he wished he’d been more open to the idea of touch in the past. Now, he didn’t think there was any better way to calm down than a hug from someone he cared about. 

Granted, Keith wasn’t exactly raised the way Lance was. His experience in the foster system after his father’s death held him back for a long time — as did the burden of keeping it secret. It wasn’t until the end of their first semester in college that he told Lance the real reason for his social awkwardness. 

It had begun with a harmless lie. 

After their first semester freshman year, Lance had been extremely excited to go home for the holidays. He’d spent weeks collecting Christmas decorations for their dorm room, in the hope that it became more “homey”. By early December, there were lights strung across the walls, ornaments hung on a miniature tree, and candles lit during every moment of the day. The atmosphere changed drastically in that short period of time, and Keith couldn’t help but indulge in it.

Often, Lance asked where Keith would go when their break started, who he would stay with, and how long he’d be gone. And in an effort to avoid Lance’s pity, Keith had lied through his teeth. He’d lied that he was leaving to see his family a day later than Lance and would return a few days earlier. Without much prodding, Lance actually believed him.

Eventually, Lance got curious about his family, so Keith had managed to come up with a story: his mother and father had divorced when he was young, and he was only in contact with his father. Keith had also fabricated an elaborate story of past christmas traditions and favorite gifts and happy memories — all to keep Lance from finding out about his baggage. 

In the days leading up to their break, a lot of time was spent studying for finals, so Keith was able to avoid family talk. Lance was a tense mess during his tests and excited to leave. Keith, on the other hand, was just looking forward to some alone time. As much as he’d come to like Lance in that first semester, he kind of missed the peace of solitude. He looked forward to not being pestered about eating all three meals and going to bed at a decent hour. 

Finally, on the day that Lance left to go home, Keith even pretended to pack his stuff. The moment Lance left, though, he returned everything back to normal. 

While he was gone, Lance texted him nearly once a day. Whether it was a gushing explanation of a family moment or just a random comment, Keith appreciated the outreach — even though it stung a little to hear of all Lance had when Keith had nothing. 

He had passed most of the days in their room, playing videos, watching movies, and enjoying the remaining Christmas decorations — not that he’d ever admit it to Lance. He even had gone to the gym and gained a pound or two of muscle. In addition, he’d started and finished an entire sitcom series that he’d been meaning to watch. 

In short, he’d enjoyed his time off from classes — that is, until Lance came back two days early. 

Keith had been sleeping on the couch when the door unlocked, and Lance was appalled to see him there. At first, Keith had tried to lie and claim he got back early, but it hadn’t worked. Lance saw right through it. Reluctantly, Keith decided it was time for Lance to know the truth. 

As always, Lance was patient, kind, and understanding. Keith could tell he was hurt from the lie and obvious lack of trust, but he hoped telling the truth made it up to Lance. They spent the remaining days before classes celebrating their own version of Christmas: they exchanged small gifts, listened to Christmas songs with hot chocolate, and watched movies. It was everything Keith had ever wished for since he lost his only family. He didn’t think things could get any better. 

From then on, Lance has brought Keith to his house for winter break.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wanna stop at the coffeeshop before we go back?” Lance questions as they’re on their way home from their shared Advanced Physics class. There’s a small place that’s a little out of the way called Noble Roasters, and they go there often. Not only is the coffee good, but the atmosphere is relaxing and the prices aren’t bad. It’s Keith’s favorite place near the university. 

He could _really_ use a coffee. 

“Sure, sounds good,” he answers, pulling his jacket closer to himself. The wind is strong, whipping through Keith’s hair as they walk side by side down the sidewalk. Lance nods. The silence between them gives Keith some time to clear his thoughts and just relax. 

After another minute of walking, they turn onto the busy street that the shop is on. Lance speeds up his pace when he sees it and leaves Keith behind — his legs are stupidly long. Keith follows loyally, though, trying his best to keep up. He debates telling Lance to slow down but decides against it since they’re almost there. 

They’re only a few steps from the doorway when Lance stops short; Keith stumbles right into his back. 

Lance turns abruptly and leans into Keith’s ear, trying to whisper to him, but Keith can’t hear a single thing due to the bustling crowd around them. When Lance backs away slightly, Keith raises an eyebrow, face wrinkling in confusion. Lance rolls his eyes with exasperation and just waits there, still facing away from the coffeeshop. 

“Is Nyma still there?” Lance asks into his ear once more, louder. Finally, Keith understands. He looks around, searching, but she’s nowhere to be found, so he shakes his head in response. Lance sighs in relief then enters the cafe, Keith close behind and thinking. Nyma is a recent ex of Lance’s, and they had ended on bad terms. Keith had never liked her, and their messy break up only solidified his suspicions. 

When they get in line, he places a hand on Lance’s back as a gentle reassurance. Lance seems to be fine, luckily. 

“I was thinking of getting something different than usual,” Lance says, and continues to ramble on about the pros of a new drink in comparison to his typical order. Keith just pretends to understand what he’s talking about and nods along. He knows exactly what he’s going to get, as always: dark roast with a little half-and-half. 

Everything continues normally until the barista starts hitting on Keith. 

Once they both place their orders, the man behind the counter winks at Keith, proceeding to compliment the jacket he’s wearing. Keith doesn't think anything of it — in fact, he barely even notices the barista is flirting — until Lance gives them both this _look_. 

Which, consequently, only makes the barista more interested in Keith. 

“Those jeans are nice, too,” he says with a low voice, clearly looking Keith up and down like he’s some sort of prize. “They fit you so _well_ ,” he smirks. 

The man is admittedly attractive. He looks to be a year or two older than Keith, but much more built. He has a strong jaw that’s covered lightly with stubble, and his skin is clear and appears smooth. His eyes, though, are the most striking: deep brown and half-lidded, with an obvious mischievous glint in them. Not to mention his short hair and gorgeous smile.

Keith thinks he could be a good one night stand. Maybe he’d get his number and call him the next time Lance got a girlfriend. 

But he’s interrupted.

“What’s your problem?” Lance demands adamantly, leaning over the counter slightly. When the man just stares back slyly, Lance plants his fist on the counter, as if threatening the man, and demands once more for an explanation. This time, it’s much more firm. “I _said_ , what is your _problem?!_ ”

The man doesn’t respond. In fact, he barely even looks affected. Keith, on the other hand, stands frozen in the middle. 

“He’s clearly not interested, so I think you should back off.” Lance’s tone has never been this angry to a complete stranger before. Keith doesn’t even know what to do or how to address the situation. He just watches as Lance fumes, clutching his drink with a white-knuckled fist. “Got it, buddy?!”

Keith finally regains his composure enough to act. He yanks Lance by his arm away from the counter and drags him out of the building and onto the sidewalk. 

He walks, pulling Lance behind him, until they’ve reached a bench. Keith sits down and waits for Lance to do the same. 

For a while, he doesn’t say anything; neither does Lance. They both just sit there, trying to regain composure. Honestly, Keith is just confused. Why would Lance get so aggressive with someone who seemed to be completely harmless? It was completely out of line. He had no right to speak for Keith. He shouldn’t have done that, regardless of whether or not Keith was interested. Keith could stand up for himself! He didn’t need Lance to babysit him. 

“Who do you think you are?” Keith asks snidely, keeping his voice down so they don’t attract onlookers. He stares at Lance, waiting for some sort of explanation. 

“What do you mean?” Lance responds dumbly, blinking, looking genuinely confused as to why Keith is so angry. 

“Who do you think you are? I’m perfectly capable of standing up for myself if I need to,” Keith explains angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. Lance is avoiding his gaze now; he’s picking at a loose thread in his sleeve, looking remorseful. However, Keith isn’t done yelling at him. “Who are you to say I wasn’t interested?”

“I know you can, but— wait, you were interested in him?” Lance asks, going quiet now. He looks up at Keith with wide eyes, still confused. But there’s something else in his expression that Keith can’t identify. He isn’t used to seeing Lance look like this. It’s kind of unsettling. He’s usually so confident, but now he looks like he’s been stepped on and kicked around. The worst part of it all is the expression in Lance's eyes, which appear gray and lacking their usual brilliant glint, due to the gloomy sky above them. 

Keith is still annoyed, though. 

“I actually was. And now, I can’t go back there ever again. Did you happen to get his number before you screamed at him like an overprotective father?” Keith sneers sarcastically, turning away from Lance. “I don’t need your help.”

“I’m sorry, Keith,” he apologizes, sounding honest and embarrassed of himself — _good,_ Keith thinks. He should be sorry. “I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know what came over me back there. It was stupid, and I’m sorry for ruining your chances with him. You definitely deserved to be noticed. I don’t know why I got so angry like that, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“But _why,_ Lance?” he asks curiously. He’s satisfied with the apology, but he’s still just so confused why Lance had such an outburst on someone who didn’t deserve it. Sure, the man was certainly more forward that what Keith was used to, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Keith kind of liked that he was so direct and interested. 

Lance sighs, leaning a little closer to Keith but still respecting the distance between them. Keith’s already starting to soften up. 

“I just think that you deserve better than that,” Lance says quietly and sheepishly. The sentence alone melts Keith’s previous anger — which is expected, since Lance unfortunately tends to have that effect on him. 

Keith doesn’t find any words to respond with, so Lance just continues. 

“I just wish he would’ve appreciated you for more than just your _tight jeans_ ,” he says mockingly, then rambles on. “You’re more than just looks, Keith. You deserve so much more than some guy who wants to sleep with you, then leave. You deserve someone who will care about you as a person.”

“Oh,” Keith manages dumbly. He couldn’t think of anything to say if he tried; he’s truly speechless. He doesn’t feel like he deserves such kind words — or anything Lance claimed, for that matter — but it’s still incredible to hear. It makes him feel like he’s truly something special to Lance, and there’s absolutely nothing better than that. If Lance thought he deserved love, maybe it was true. 

“I’m sorry,” Lance repeats, though he’s already forgiven. 

“It’s okay,” Keith reassures. “I just didn’t like that you spoke up for me. I really am capable of defending myself, you know?”

“Of course I know!” Lance laughs incredulously, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course you can,” he lowers his voice to a sincere quiet, “but sometimes it’s nice to have someone defending you — so you don’t have to do it all by yourself constantly.”

Now, Keith smiles happily, but he chooses to hide it with his coffee cup. He’d prefer if Lance doesn’t see the blush that has most likely reddened his cheeks significantly. He lifts the coffee further. When he takes a large sip, though, he remembers that it’s been ages since they left the shop — so the coffee is cold, thanks to the chilly breeze. Dramatically, he crinkles his nose in disgust and makes a face. Lance observes all this, then laughs at his misfortune, throwing his head back. 

And just like that, everything is back to normal; they can go back to being best friends. 

Best friends. As usual.

* * *

Before he knows it, he’s packing clothes for the holidays into a small blue suitcase that he’s owned for years. 

This year, the pair only has enough time to stay with Lance’s family a few days, due to Lance’s big track meet. Regardless of the short length of their stay, Keith can’t wait until they get there. All year, he looks forward to Christmas — to the time he’ll spend at Lance’s home with the people who make Keith feel truly welcome and loved.

The forty-five minute drive seems hours long to Keith; luckily, Lance talks a lot to distract him. 

When they finally arrive at Lance’s childhood home, the door opens to his mother, who immediately pulls them both into a warm embrace. Keith has always been appalled by her strength despite her small size, and today is no different. Her hug is firm and secure, like what Keith always imagined a mother’s hug would feel like. 

“My boys are home!” she cries out joyfully, and it seemingly catches the attention of everyone in the house, which sends them all rushing to the door. 

“Welcome,” Keith hears as Lance’s mom begins to let go of them. It’s Lance’s father. As always, his eyes are kind and his voice is steady, sort of like how Keith's father had been. He looks Keith in the eye as he offers a hand, which Keith shakes firmly. When he steps away, Lance hugs his father, who pats his back affectionately, then pulls away to let the rest of Lance’s family greet the two of them. 

Rachel and Veronica are next, and they take turns hugging them as well. Veronica chats happily to them about what she’s been doing lately and what she helped make for dinner, and Rachel just asks them how the drive was, more calm and quiet as usual. They talk for a minute or two before Marco politely interrupts. Lance exclaims his name and they hug, before Marco pulls away to greet Keith and shake his hand. 

Before Luis and his wife can even reach the two of them, though, Sylvio and Nadia come running at them, yelling— yelling Keith’s name? 

They don’t slow down when they reach him, just barrel into him full-force. Keith laughs loudly and scoops them both up, one in each arm, and excitedly yells their names right back at them. They giggle happily and wrap their arms around Keith, who asks, “How are you two?!”

“Good! I’m excited to be out of school!” Nadia answers enthusiastically, and Sylvio nods along. Keith’s about to talk more, but Lance interrupts them. 

“No hug for me? You like Keith better now?” He pouts, jokingly offended. The two kids reach for Lance now, so Keith hands them over — gratefully, since his arms are beginning to get tired. Nadia’s smile grows even wider, and Sylvio rests his head on Lance’s shoulder, and the sight of it all makes Keith’s heart melt a little. He smiles warmly as they all make their way past the doorway and into the house. 

The kids hang around Keith and Lance once they’ve made their way into the living room, but Lance’s brother shoos them away kindly so the two have some space. 

Not long after, Lance’s mother sends them upstairs to Lance’s childhood bedroom — which they’ll be sharing due the amount of people staying in the home — and tells them to unpack. Keith obeys, thankful for the space. As much as he absolutely adores Lance’s family, they’re much louder than he’s accustomed to.

“This bed looks smaller every year,” Lance groans, before flopping dramatically onto it. “How are we both going to fit?”

“Same way we did last year,” Keith answers, smug grin on his face. He eyes Lance warily, waiting to see when he’ll catch on that’s he’s teasing him. The realization doesn’t come; Lance stares at the ceiling. “I’ll just kick you in the back until you decide to sleep on the floor, and I’ll get the whole bed to myself. We have _plenty_ of room like that.”

“You won’t get away with that, asshole.” And then, Lance promptly hits Keith in the face with his pillow, and war breaks out between the two of them. 

It’s the kind of pillow fight that makes Keith laugh so hard he’d swear he was getting an ab workout. They both are on the floor by the end of it — Lance has got him in a headlock as he slams his fist on the ground and surrenders. There’s an annoyed huff from Keith, a shout of victory from Lance, and then Keith’s phone buzzes in his pocket, startling both of them. 

Lance hangs over his shoulder, gazing curiously as Keith opens the Instagram notification that shows him a Direct Message from the woman named Krolia who requested his account a few days prior. 

The profile, as he expected, is private. Keith had never requested to follow her back after the initial time, so he can't see any of her posts. He tries to see what she looks like through the profile picture, but it's way too small. Keith wonders if they know each other; he isn't great with names so it's possible that they've met in class or something and he just doesn't remember. Curious, he opens the DM. 

_Hi Keith, I’m Krolia. I was hoping to speak to you over the phone. Do you have a number I can contact you at? And a time that is convenient for you?_

“Who’s she? Do you know her? What's her last name? Is it Marmora? I don't think I know her,” Lance rambles from beside him, confusedly squinting at the phone. His hand is still around Keith's shoulder from their play-fight, but his grip has loosened considerably. Now, the contact serves to soothe Keith, who has become suddenly nervous by the woman’s strange and sudden inquiry.

“I don't know who she is,” Keith responds. “Why would she need to contact me?” His question receives no response — other than a quick shrug from Lance that he feels due to their proximity. 

Lance grabs for his phone despite Keith's indignant protests, quickly typing and sending: _Who are you?_

The response is immediate: _I was hoping to talk over the phone._

For some reason, it pisses Keith off. What's her deal? Why does she think she's entitled to a conversation without having to provide any reasoning in return? He really wants nothing to do with this woman now after the implicit tone to her words. If he weren't so unnerved by the conversation, he'd delete it all and forget it happened — but there's something weird about this whole thing. 

He responds passive aggressively before Lance can convince him otherwise, _I'm not going to call a complete stranger unless I'm aware of the reason._

_If you insist. Please know I didn't want to inform you in this manner,_ she answers. There's a horrible pause of stillness in which Keith waits with bated breath and Lance grips his shoulder in attempt to comfort — it only ends up making Keith even more nervous and uneasy, because Lance is also unsettled by it all. 

They wait. Keith closes his eyes, waits, worries, until Lance audibly gasps. 

_I’m your mother._

Beside him, Lance gasps audibly, but Keith finds himself absolutely frozen, numb, unmoving. 

His first thought is centered upon denial. She couldn't possibly be his mother; his mother was long gone. Keith had convinced himself — after his father's death, when his mother hadn't showed up to save him — that she was dead as well. Simply because the idea of her being dead was much easier to deal with than the idea of her being alive and unconcerned for Keith. 

He just stares at the message with unseeing eyes. 

Then, Lance attempts damage control. He tries to pry the phone from Keith's white-knuckled grasp, and Keith relents nearly immediately. Once Lance has gotten the device away and out of his sight, he tries to pull Keith in, to hug him, to comfort him in this time of desperate need, but Keith wants no part in it. 

He shrugs Lance off of him forcefully and stands, shoving his hands into his hair and pulling. 

“I don't want to talk about this,” Keith warns; his tone is even and threatening as he stares down Lance’s horrified face with as much sternness as he can muster. “Not now, and not ever again. Do _not_ bring this up. If I'm ever ready to discuss this, I will bring it up first. Understood?”

Keith doesn't wait for an answer before he storms out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next hour, Keith takes his car out and explores the furthest borders of Lance’s hometown. It relaxes him significantly; there’s nothing that calms him like the wind in his hair and the rumble of the engine. 

He refuses to think about his situation, and surprisingly, it helps. 

By the time he gets back, Keith can smell food and curses silently to himself that he now has to sit and eat dinner with them all, pretending that nothing is wrong. His dread only worsens when he enters the kitchen, finding the McClain family sat around the table, all laughing happily. They pause when they notice him, and Keith freezes as well. 

He searches for something to say, but luckily, Lance catches his eye and gestures to the empty seat next to him.

That’s all it takes for the McClain family to return to their conversation. He slips into the seat between Lance and Rachel, thankful that neither of them say anything to him. Lance just bumps his shoulder into Keith’s as a discrete attempt to comfort him.

It only takes a few more minutes of conversation — that Keith doesn’t participate in — for someone to notice he’s not acting normally. Keith sees Marco eyeing him warily from the opposite side of the table, but chooses to ignore it in favor of fiddling with his fork and pushing around the rice on his plate. He wants nothing more than to disappear. 

Just as Marco opens his mouth to inquire, Keith notices Lance shake his head out of the corner of his eye, trying to dismiss whatever Marco was about to comment about Keith’s mood.

No one bothers Keith for the rest of dinner. 

He listens to the family chat about the new job Veronica is starting, about Nadia’s soccer tryouts, and about their next trip to Cuba; before he knows it, dinner is over. He politely offers to clean up with Lance’s mother, even _insists_ that he help, but she sends him off to the living room with the rest of the family. 

He settles in the corner of the farthest couch, distancing himself from the rest of the family, who are huddled around the coffee table, looking for the movie they watch every time they’re together for Christmas. Keith doesn’t quite catch the name of it. 

After all, family tradition is a luxury Keith has never experienced.

He jumps slightly when the couch dips beside him, but he relaxes significantly when he realizes it’s just Lance. 

Lance wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him real close, tucking Keith under his arm carefully. Lance kneads his shoulder in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from him, and though it’s thoughtful, it’s also useless. They both sigh simultaneously. 

“You’ve got your brooding face on,” Lance whispers into his hair, leaning in close. It tickles, but Keith refrains from flinching. “If you want some time alone, you can go up to my room.”

In response, Keith briefly rests his head on Lance’s shoulder and hopes it conveys how grateful he is. 

“I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight,” Keith says after a second, partially announcing and standing up. Everyone turns to look at him, but no one responds. They just look up at him, each seemingly contemplating asking _why_ , but none of them actually doing so. Both Lance’s parents nod, so Keith takes that as his queue to leave. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Keith!” Sylvio exclaims, mispronouncing his name slightly. The rest of the family echoes him, and Keith smiles graciously in response, before heading up the stairs. 

Keith spends a few minutes in the bathroom before heading to Lance’s room. He leans over the sink, splashes his face gently with cold water. It does nothing but irritate him, so he just brushes his teeth before heading down the hall to the safety of Lance’s room.

He stops halfway when he hears his own name, along with chatter in Spanish; they don’t know Keith studied the language throughout high school. 

He hears Rachel first, questioning Lance about Keith’s behavior. It’s gentle but slightly prying, and he silently prays that Lance doesn’t tell her. Keith doesn’t think he would, but he’s still nervous as he hides behind a wall, holds his breath carefully, and waits to hear Lance’s answer.

Keith doesn’t fully understand Lance’s response, but he definitely doesn’t mention Keith’s mother. He seems to only tell them that Keith “gets sad around the holidays” because of his family — or lack thereof. When they start talking again all at once, Keith finds it hard to decipher between their voices, and even harder to translate it all. 

He’s about to walk away and stop listening when he catches Lance’s mother saying his name. 

“Keith is family to us. He always has us,” she says, slow and honest. The sincerity in her voice causes a lump to form in Keith’s throat with indescribable emotion; he’s simultaneously saddened and comforted by her words, and he doesn’t know how to process it all. 

For a while, no one really says anything. They all just hum in agreement, and it warms Keith’s heart significantly. 

Then, Lance assures them that Keith _knows_ , but that it’s still hard for him because he doesn’t have all of them year-round. His answer could not have been better. Keith makes a mental note to thank Lance for his explanation when the time comes — for when Keith can talk about all of this without a heavy weight settling on his shoulders and within his heart. 

“But _you’re_ with him all year, Lance,” Nadia pipes in, now in English, sounding both concerned and relieved. “Don’t you keep him happy?”

Everything stills. Keith waits, squeezes his eyes shut, picks nervously at his shirt, debates leaving before he hears a response. He doesn’t quite know what he expects or what he wants to hear. Lance will most likely just agree to appease Nadia, and it’ll mean nothing. Still, though, Keith waits. 

“I really hope I do.”

And Keith absolutely melts. 

Before he indulges in the comment, he hurries out of the hallway and into their shared room, hoping the family doesn’t notice the footsteps above them. They don’t seem to, since the conversation resumes with as much enthusiasm as before. Keith can no longer tell what they’re saying behind the closed door, but they sound happy. 

Once another few minutes have passed, they quiet down noticeably; they’re probably starting the movie. 

Keith stares up at the ceiling for a long time after that, just listening to the sounds of the house. Every once in a while, he hears carefree laughter — probably coinciding with events in the movie. As much as he’d like to sit down there with them, he knows he’d just be out of place. He doesn’t belong with the McClain’s, as much as he wants to deny it. He’s just not one of them. 

When he was younger, he used to think that maybe he didn't deserve a loving family. When his father died, he was left with absolutely nothing, and the foster families he'd been placed in were less than favorable. They'd often treated Keith with indifference or worse. He always felt like a liability. He'd never belonged.

All he'd wanted back then was a mother, but now, she's about fifteen years late. 

He ends up just refreshing her Instagram page, over and over, staring at the woman who dropped such a bomb on him over a measley DM. 

Since their initial conversation, she hasn’t messaged him at all. Keith had never responded to the text she sent which revealed her identity, and she had never bothered to send anything more. Maybe that was all she intended on doing. Maybe she just wanted to get it off her chest, then continue on with her life as usual. 

Keith just didn’t think it was fair that she could tell him something so life-altering, and then never attempt to contact him again. 

He stares blankly at her tiny profile picture, zooming in to see if he recognizes her at all. Maybe she lived in the area and was hoping to set up a meeting. If she was, Keith doesn’t even know if he would agree. It seems like a poor idea. 

He wonders, with a deep pang in his chest that he hasn’t felt in years, if she looks like him. 

Her profile picture only reveals dark hair, similar to Keith’s own in style, save for its purple tint. The similarity alone is enough to churn unease in Keith’s gut. Though he wants nothing more than to find someone he _belongs_ to, he doesn’t want it to be her. He doesn’t want to have found out in this manner that his mother is both alive and well. 

With a deep cold in his chest, he wonders if she's happy with her decision to abandon him. 

Everything about the situation is unfortunate — actually, it’s just plain _awful_. Keith doesn’t think he deserves this. 

He tosses his phone aside and wills himself to fall asleep. He tries every trick in the book to get himself to sleep, but nothing really works. After about an hour of staring at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing, he starts to become genuinely agitated at his inability to rest.

Keith lays there, silently irritated, until the stairs creak with footsteps. He assumes that most of the family is going to bed. 

The door opens quietly when Lance enters, and neither of them say anything while Lance changes into his pajamas, turns off the desk lamp Keith had left on for this exact scenario, and crawls into the bed as gently as he possibly can to avoid startling Keith. He fails. If Keith had been sleeping, the shifting of the mattress would’ve been enough to wake him. 

They lie just like that — side by side, shoulders pressed together — until Keith’s unsettling tension seems to spread to Lance. 

“Okay, Keith, get up,” Lance instructs out of nowhere, breaking the silence with a tone Keith doesn’t dare question. He sighs and rolls his eyes but, regardless, follows Lance out of bed. 

Lance just stands in the middle of the room. 

There’s a quiet tune echoing through the house, like no one remembered to turn off the Christmas carols that play throughout the day. It’s soft and hardly audible, but Keith notices it among the nervous energy and misplaced feelings. He just stares at Lance, waiting for something to happen. 

Then with unexpected grace, he steps forward and gathers Keith against him, repeating his name softly in _that_ voice. 

“What are you doing?” Keith asks with slight irritation, though his annoyance is draining out of him with each slow movement Lance guides them to make. They’re swaying to the music. They’re _dancing_. It all seems utterly ridiculous, and Keith laughs anxiously, raking through his wild hair. “Are you dancing with me?”

Lance doesn’t respond. He just secures Keith close to him with a solid arm around his waist and continues to guide their miniscule movements. Despite that Keith’s a little unsure of himself, he hasn’t felt this safe and steady since he was a little kid in his father’s arms.

Their breathing is calm, even, and consistent. It’s louder than the soft music playing throughout the house. Against his better judgement, Keith lets himself indulge in the moment. He slumps into Lance — so much so that their movements are reduced to almost nothing. He just lets Lance support him, hold his weight, and keep him standing. Physically and metaphorically. 

He lifts his head from where he’d been resting on Lance’s shoulder to say something, but as much as he wants to thank Lance, he can’t. He can’t say anything. Keith has got nothing left to give. 

Luckily, Lance seems to understand. He rubs Keith’s back with his other hand — the one not holding Keith up by his waist. He sighs heavily, as if he shares in Keith’s pain. 

“You don’t have to face this alone.”

It’s both a fact and a reminder. That Lance is at his side. That he isn’t planning on going anywhere. Despite all odds. Despite Keith’s past. Despite the universe’s tendency to rip away the people Keith wants, needs, and _loves_.

It’s also an attempt to comfort Keith. Instead, it just makes him feel undeserving of the affection. 

He begrudgingly draws himself away from Lance. 

“I’m going to get water,” he announces — simultaneously to Lance and to himself. And he leaves, abandoning Lance in the middle of the room, frozen, mid-step. Keith can’t bring himself to look at his face before he goes. 

The hallway is dark and slightly confusing, but a single nightlight guides Keith toward the staircase, in the direction of where the music is playing. It doesn’t sound like anyone else is down there; Keith hopes the kitchen is as empty as it sounds. Knowing his luck, though, it isn’t likely. He holds his breath as he walks down the stairs, hoping not to disturb anyone in the house. 

When he turns into the kitchen, he sees Lance’s mother. 

Her back is turned to him, which allows him the opportunity to disappear and avoid her. It would be easier that way — to escape a conversation of pleasantries that won’t do anything but make Keith more uneasy. 

He considers walking away. 

But it’s just Lance’s mother, and she’s never been anything but accepting to Keith. In fact, she has only ever welcomed him with open arms, receiving him like one of her own. 

He decides to stay. With a quiet cough he tries to make his presence known, hoping he doesn’t scare her. She jumps a little, though, and turns quickly to look at him, eyes wide, but the startled look in her eye disappears almost immediately as she regards him. Her posture relaxes, she smoothes her shirt with her palms, and she opens her mouth to greet him. 

It’s then that she seems to notice his expression. Keith knows how pitifully forlorn and exhausted he looks. It’d be impossible for her not to notice — especially combined with his behavior earlier in the night. 

Her expression softens to one of kindness and compassion. The look alone slumps Keith’s shoulders, and suddenly, his feet feel like lead where they’re planted in the doorway. 

“Keith, you know that we’re here for you, right?” she says softly. Her brows crease with sincerity, and her face is alight with compassion. Her appearance is so gentle and unassuming that Keith immediately finds himself calmer than he was. He can feel barriers falling within him, like he’s about to boil over with emotion any second now. 

She’s everything he’s ever wanted from a mother. Instead, he got a childhood of emptiness and an Instagram direct message. 

He barely even gets out a word of gratitude before he breaks down.

There’s no strength left within himself to control the outpour of emotions. He only can sob, deep and heavy, like he’s never sobbed before. He loses all inhibition and restraint. Fat tears spill from his reddening eyes, unceasing, and he starts to hyperventilate. 

“I j-just wanted— I needed a m—”

“I know, _mijo,_ it’s okay,” she soothes even though she hasn’t got a clue what’s going on. Somehow, it still reassures Keith. He doesn’t even protest when she gathers him in her arms, holding him close. He clings desperately to her, with whitening knuckles in her shirt as he cries hard into her shoulder. She rubs his back, whispering soothing endearments into his hair. “Keith, breathe, okay? You’re okay, _mijo_ , you’re okay. Everything will work itself out.”

She promises he’ll be okay when she doesn’t even know what’s wrong. 

She wraps him up in her arms in a way that makes him feel like a little boy again, when the only thing he ever wanted was a hug from a mother — a mother who loved him. He feels impossibly small in her arms, though he’s significantly taller than her. It’s as if she wrapped him up and shielded him from all forms of pain and hurt. 

It’s all he’s ever wanted.

“Thank you,” he whispers thickly, voice still clogged with tears. She simply holds him closer in response and rests her hand on the back of his head, which is rested beneath her chin. 

He’s needed this type of motherly comfort his entire life. This, he thinks, is catharsis. 

Finally, he gains control over his breathing, and she helps him up the stairs and to Lance’s room, where Lance is politely pretending to be asleep to avoid awkwardness (and although his acting is poor, Keith appreciates the gesture). He climbs in bed next to Lance, careful to leave a reasonable amount of space between them. 

Before Lance’s mother leaves the room, she pulls up the covers around them and kisses both their foreheads. 

It’s the first time Keith has ever been tucked in.

* * *

From then on, Keith is mostly fine. His mood turns around significantly after the encounter with Lance’s mom, and it only continues to lighten when he wakes up to Lance’s sleepy smile and gentle reassurances. It’s nice — actually, it’s much more than nice, but Keith would never admit that out loud. His mind is much clearer after the chat he had with Lance’s mother. 

Now, he’s almost ready to think about his next course of action.

But he can’t. Not yet. 

He _knows_ that Lance is gearing up to talk to Keith about the situation. He can just _tell_ each time Lance is about to bring it up, but he avoids the conversation each time. 

Instead, he spends time with Lance’s family. He plays games with Nadia and Sylvio. He bakes cookies with Veronica. He and Marco race around town on bikes. He even lets Rachel practice different hairstyles on him. He does anything he possibly can to avoid the lecture Lance is most likely going to give him. 

When it’s time for them to leave, though, Keith knows what’s coming in the car ride. The second they pull out of the driveway — waving goodbye to everyone — Lance takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to talk. 

Keith interrupts him, biting the bullet and decided to take control of the conversation before Lance can even say anything. 

“I talked to your mom a little—” Keith informs, leaving out the part in which he broke down in front of her, “—and I’ve decided that I will deal with Krolia when our break is over. For now, I just want to enjoy our last few days off and help you prepare for your meet. We can deal with my issues afterward. Your last race is top priority.”

“Keith, I think that’s a bad idea. You need to deal with this—”

“Well, I _don’t want to_. Not yet, but eventually,” Keith responds sharply, turning his attention back to the road. He grips the steering wheel tightly, trying to ignore the way Lance visibly deflates out of the corner of his eye. 

Keith knows he’s just trying to help, but it’s still difficult to accept. They both have lived completely different lives, so Lance would never understand how he felt. Lance values family above all else; he believes they take precedence over everything. Meanwhile, Keith can’t feel the same because he’s been pushed aside too many times to consider family as his primary concern. 

Why should he prioritize a woman who never did the same for him? It was simply illogical. 

“Fine,” huffs Lance, and the topic is dropped — just like that. He thinks that maybe Lance is content at Keith’s willingness to at least work through the problem together, even if it won’t be dealt with as quickly as Lance might hope. 

The drive home seems significantly longer than it should to Keith, but he blames it on the uncharacteristic tension between the two of them. Neither boy is used to being on opposing sides. They haven’t argued so stubbornly since they first moved in together freshman year, back when they enjoyed getting on each other’s nerves and causing problems for no good reason at all. 

Eventually, Lance calls a silent truce when he plugs his phone into the car, selecting a playlist off of Keith’s Spotify account. 

They’re back to normal within a few songs, but Keith knows it’s not over — there’s definitely more conflict in their future.


	4. Chapter 4

Soon enough, they’re back at their apartment, preparing for the big track meet. 

Yet even though they’re ready physically, Lance is an emotional trainwreck of nervous excitement. He spent the entire week pacing about their apartment, intermittently hitting the gym between practices. The day of the meet, Lance arrives nearly two whole hours ahead of time and drags Keith with him — “for emotional support”, he claims, and Keith doesn’t even protest. He knows how hard this is for Lance, even if he’s trying to hide it. 

Despite the weather forecast for that Friday, it doesn’t snow on their way there. Lance repeats over and over how thankful he is that they don’t have to travel in the snow, especially since it would risk cancellation. 

The moment they walk into the Field House and step foot on the two-hundred meter track, Lance disappears. 

Preparation for meets often entails warm-up runs with people in similar events, stretching as an entire team, and many other things that Keith doesn’t understand. Though he’d run Cross Country in high school, he found that things were very different in collegiate-level Indoor Track. Meet days were busy and passed quickly, Keith found, even though he wasn’t a competitor. 

Lance, he knows, is probably in about four places at once, and he doesn’t have time to keep Keith company. Luckily this isn’t even close to Keith’s first time watching, so he easily finds ways to busy himself. He starts by unpacking Lance’s two large bags, setting aside his spikes from his trainers, his warm-ups from his sweats, and his extra socks from his starter blocks. It’s easy work, but it serves as a good distraction while Lance is busy elsewhere. 

Next, Keith finds himself welcoming the other team members as they show up — at a much more reasonable arrival time compared to Lance’s. Most of them know Keith, have befriended him, and consider him the team manager. One hurdler went as far as to call him an assistant coach.

Most people, though, just assume he’s either Lance’s agent or his boyfriend, given how much time he dedicates to Lance and the team. 

An hour has passed when Lance finally shows up again, asking Keith where the spare waters are. Once he’s hydrated, he abandons Keith again in favor of stretching with his team. They gather in a circle near the check-in table, where they congregate every time they run in the facility. The runners all surround Lance, who leads the stretch. His expression, though familiar to Keith, makes him feel a strange way. Lance’s smile is practiced and easy, but his eyes hold unrivaled determination. His heart is set on victory, and Keith doesn’t think for a second that he’ll be deterred.

Keith has always admired Lance’s leadership qualities. The team follows Lance’s instructions without a moment of hesitation, and for a while, Keith watches in awe at their cohesion. 

Almost another hour later, Lance’s race is called. Immediately, his team surrounds him once more, cheering and applauding, hyping up their captain for his last race ever. They know the severity of the situation nearly as well as Keith does. This is Lance’s last chance ever to break the record he’s spent four years working at. Now, it’s crunch-time, make-or-break, do-or-die. This is it. They know it. Keith knows it. And most of all, Lance knows it. 

When the team finally lets Lance breathe, his face is red but his smile is absolutely brilliant. Keith can’t help but stare at him. For the millionth time that day, Keith is amazed by Lance — this time, at his beauty. 

The second call for his race is when Lance approaches Keith, grinning with confidence and walking proudly. Everything about his demeanor makes it seem as if he’s unbothered and unconcerned, like this is just any old race, not the biggest moment of his track career. The closer he gets to where Keith’s been stood for ages, the more false his persona seems. 

Maybe Keith notices it in the slight falter of his steps; maybe he notices it in the miniscule twitch of his eyes. Regardless, Keith sees right through his every movement; Lance is tearing himself apart inside with nervousness. 

Keith lets his own smile soften, looks at Lance with what he hopes is a gentle expression of understanding, and takes a step forward. It only makes Lance pick up his pace into a light jog, and when he finally reaches Keith, Lance scoops him up into a big hug. 

Lance clings to him with the strength of a bodybuilder, and Keith’s arms easily find their place around Lance’s shoulders. He can feel his feet lift off the ground slightly as Lance grasps onto his waist and nestles his nose into the crook of Keith’s neck. The loss of balance startles Keith, and he stumbles a little bit further into the embrace, making Lance laugh lightly. It’s contagious. 

Finally, the facade drops. 

Keith can feel Lance’s rapid heartbeat from where it’s thrumming heavily against his chest, an indication of just how uneasy he feels in that moment. No matter what, though, Keith knows that no words will fix or eradicate what Lance is feeling; nothing he says will calm Lance, who had fallen victim to his own expectations long before Keith showed up. The only thing Keith can really do is hold Lance tight, hope the embrace reiterates the confidence he has in him, and try his best to at least help a little. 

Lance presses his face into Keith’s neck and breathes in deep. 

“I’m scared.”

There it is, the self-doubt, just as Keith had suspected.

He tightens his hold on Lance and lets his fingers curl into the fabric of his uniform jersey. They both sigh, nearly simultaneously, and some of the tension drains from Lance’s shoulders as he slumps a little further. Keith feels like he’s supporting nearly his entire weight, but it’s probably an exaggeration — possibly because he knows he’s supporting all of Lance emotionally. 

“You’ve got this, Lance,” he whispers, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through Lance’s hair. Lance makes an unconvinced noise in response and pulls himself from the hug to stare Keith in the eye, unblinking for a moment. 

“You’ll be at the final stretch, right?” he questions, staring at Keith with the unusual seriousness that he only possesses before a competition. It makes Keith’s gut flip to see that in his eyes, though he should be used to it after all this time. It’s nice to see Lance care so much about something, regardless of what it is. 

“Always,” Keith promises, gazing up at Lance. Today, their minuscule height difference is emphasized due to Lance’s warm-up sneakers, which have a thick sole to absorb some impact of landing the hurdles. Keith tried his very hardest not to blush as Lance smiles at him, gaze soft and appreciative. He distracts himself by looking down at both their feet, which are pointed at each other, and decides on one last encouragement before Lance leaves to run. “No matter what happens, I got your back.” 

This time, Lance’s smile is reflexive and genuine; Keith knows he’s done his job. 

“Thanks, man,” he whispers into the space between them, and it melts Keith’s heart as he pats Lance’s shoulder one last time before stepping back, allowing Lance the space to finally leave and head out. 

For a moment, though, Lance lingers and waits, as if anticipating something, until he finally backs away. So Keith calls out his name one last time. “Kick ass out there, okay?”

In response, Lance smirks, nods, then turns abruptly as a statement. Before approaching the line, Keith sees him straighten his posture, set his shoulders, and stand tall. His team hypes him up one last time, and Lance cements his resolve. It’s his way of preparing himself without letting anyone see through his mask of confidence. 

It speaks volumes that Keith gets to see a side of him that no one else does. He tries not to read too much into it, but he doesn’t think he does a very good job. 

Now, Keith watches him jog over to the clerk, where he receives the two sticker number fives, which he puts on his chest and hip as instructed. By the time he’s done talking, the young woman behind the clerk’s desk is smiling brilliantly and blushing slightly. Once again, Keith is in awe of the effect Lance has on people, though not surprised in the slightest. 

It’s a good sign, though. He thinks it indicates that Lance is slightly less nervous, and maybe that their talk helped him. Keith _hopes_ it helped. 

Finally, Lance gets on line to start his race. And after a few minutes of waiting, Lance makes his way to the line, and Keith heads toward his usual spot, stationed at the final stretch of Lance’s race. He stands just after the curve, then digs through his pocket for the good luck charm — the coin. 

When he finally fishes it from the depths of his coat, Lance is in his starting block, poised and waiting for the command. 

Keith encloses the nickel in his palm, squeezing it tight, as the official raises his flag up above his head, giving the first command. Keith sees Lance take a deep breath, and then the official gives the second command. Lance obeys, raising into his position, balanced precariously as he leans forward, ready to explode with power, speed, and agility. 

Until the gun sounds, and Lance takes off. 

It’s honestly really incredible to watch. Keith has always loved watching him sprint, watching the way his body moves when he gives one hundred percent effort. There’s a certain grace, almost a certain beauty, that Lance possesses when he runs, and Keith never could get over it. He's controlled but powerful, technical yet explosive. As he strides within the third lane, Keith stares in awe. He's got the lead, but not by much. 

There are five other guys in the race, all very different from Lance. The one keeping the closest competition with him is just as tall, with flawless dark skin and a serious expression. He's much more muscular than Lance is, but he seems to be just a bit slower. His steps are quicker but shorter, which gives Lance the advantage. They're followed by a boy with brown floppy hair, who runs for the same team that the other boy does. 

If Keith's eyes weren't solely focused on Lance, he'd think they were overwhelmingly attractive. 

Lance's physique has changed drastically since when Keith first met him. He was once just tall and lanky, even with slightly noticeable love-handles. Now, though, Lance is completely trim. Where there was once a little fat, now there's only muscle. 

His track uniform hides his abs, but the muscles in his legs are clear and obvious as he moves quickly. The same goes for his arms, which pump at his sides and move in time with his legs. Keith is overwhelmingly proud of Lance for all the hard work he's put in to improve himself. He's refined who he is, and although he has every right to be boastful, he never is. 

Lance's effort has always been something Keith looked up to. His dedication is unrivaled in every possible way, and he motivates Keith to do better for himself. 

Lance keeps his lead through the first curve of the track, flawlessly making it over the first three hurdles. The grace with which he jumps is downright mesmerizing, and Keith stares at him through the whole thing. The runner furthest behind the group is starting to catch up, while the boy in third is losing his lead. It’s extremely interesting to watch, especially as the race progresses.

It’s so fast-paced and intense that Keith almost doesn’t know what to focus on. 

Lance hurdles with practiced ease, like the tall obstacles are merely part of a routine, something he barely has to think about it. He jumps them as if they’re merely a minor inconvenience, rather than something that takes careful planning and unbreakable concentration. If Lance were to shorten his stride even slightly, he’d blow the entire race. 

The look on his face is one of pure, uninterrupted focus, and it’s just so incredible to watch that Keith finds himself envious of Lance’s teammates, who get to see him do this nearly every day. 

After finishing up the first half of the race with no errors, Lance gets to the second curve of the track, where most runners experience the most trouble. It’s where fatigue starts to set in, where their muscles start to run out of oxygen, where they start feeling muscle cramps. Though Lance had trained himself well, there’s only so much a sprinter can do to avoid that lactic acid build-up in their legs. 

The runner in the lane adjacent to Lance’s hesitates, stutter-steps, and knocks his right knee into the hurdle. 

Though Lance had already cleared it, it makes Keith tense up with the fear that Lance might do the same thing. It’s happened millions of times, since Lance’s performance was most affected by his confidence. If Lance saw another runner’s mistake, he often worried that he’d make the same one. 

“Come on,” Keith whispers to himself, after swearing under his breath. He knows that no matter how loud he is, Lance will not hear a word he says. He rarely even hears his coach. It’s just him, the hurdles, and the track. Nothing else matters in the minute Lance is sprinting, Keith had learned, after sitting at various meets and screaming his head off so Lance would hear. Still, he whispers to himself in the hopes that Lance will at least feel Keith’s confidence in him. “You’ve got this, come on.”

As if he’d heard Keith, Lance regains his rhythm and rounds the rest of the curve, finally headed toward where Keith is stood. 

Everything seems to be going according to plan. Though Keith doesn’t have a stopwatch to check, he’s almost certain that Lance is going to beat the time. He seems to be running faster than he ever has before. He’s got a clear lead on the rest of the runners now, which is a good sign, since Keith can usually guess Lance’s times based on his competitors. 

And as much as Keith wants to be calm and supportive, he’s waiting with baited breath for the moment Lance crosses the finish line and receives his time. 

Keith shouts as they get closer, eyes focused on Lance, and then he begins to slow down. 

Within seconds, Keith sees him tense up and lose his lead. Though the change in speed is probably extremely miniscule, Keith notices it. He sees the pain in Lance’s face as he winces, jumping the next hurdle with a little less control. The frustration in his gaze makes Keith heart pang with sympathy, but he just can’t let him give up already. 

Lance has always been one to finish a race strong, no matter the circumstances, and he isn’t about to let that change because of one minor setback.

So, just as Lance is about to run past him, Keith squeezes the good luck charm within his palm and quite literally screams encouragement. 

“Let’s go, Lance! Push through, come on! Last race, Lance, give it your all! Leave everything on the track!” Jumping up and down, Keith keeps shouting as all the runners speed up. And then, for the first time ever, Lance _hears_ Keith. He hears him, and he looks to him with wide, searching eyes, like he’s looking for the strength to finish. It’s so brief that Keith wouldn’t have realized if he weren’t paying such close attention to Lance’s every move. 

Keith just yells even more. 

There’s a noticeable gust of wind as they pass — something Keith had always found amusing — and then they’re clearing the last hurdle. Lance has regained some ground despite the agonized glance he gave Keith, and he kicks into a second gear, and as always, Keith is stunned at his intensity and speed. 

When he finally crosses the line, Keith knows he didn’t finish first.

Still, it doesn’t necessarily mean that Lance hasn’t broken the record. Though his competitors are an indication of Lance’s speed, they aren’t always completely accurate. Lance still could’ve beaten the time, Keith reminds himself and hopes that Lance knows it as well. 

His coach is at his side, talking quickly to him as Lance is doubled over, breathing erratically. His back is to Keith, to everyone, until the results are about to come. Lance’s entire team, all of his coaches, and all of his friends are looking toward the digital board hanging above them. The first runner’s name and time is displayed, then Lance’s is up. 

There’s a moment of silence. 

Then, the crowd of Lance’s supporters _erupts_.

Not only did he beat the record, but he scored the winning points for the team as well. Everyone swallows him up immediately, tossing him into the air like he weighs nothing. His team is incredibly loud beneath him, as if the broken record had been theirs as well. Keith supposes that it partially is, since they had trained with Lance his entire athletic career and helped to shape him into the runner he is. They deserve at least a little credit. 

It takes nearly fifteen minutes for Lance’s coaches and teammates to finally let him breathe, and the second he breaks away, he’s sprinting over to Keith.

The hug they fall into is uncoordinated and imperfect, but the way they hold onto each other could not be more meaningful. Lance squeezes him, lifts him off his feet and spins him around a few times, before setting him on the ground once more. The moment burns itself into Keith’s brain, safe and tucked away for when he needs it. It’s something he knows he’ll look back on fondly despite the event’s lack of impact on his own life. When Lance pulls away, he leaves his hands clasping Keith’s shoulders, beaming. “Thank you so much, Keith.”

And Keith is certain of one thing in that moment: the brilliance of Lance’s smile could rival the sun itself.

* * *

It isn't until hours later, after the meet has ended and Lance's team emerged victorious, that Lance finally calms down from the high of his success. They're back at their apartment, staring at the spot where Keith had suggested they hang the medal, when Lance lets out an audible and contented sigh. “I really don't think I could get any happier if I tried.”

“So happy that you'll make dinner tonight?” Keith teases, nudging him with his elbow playfully. Lance shoves him in response, laughing, and retreats to the kitchen. 

“Fine,” he agrees — much to Keith's surprise. He usually avoids cooking dinner at all costs, especially after a long day like this one. For a moment, Keith can pretend that it all means something different, that Lance is cooking for him because he wants to, but he shoves the thought away as quickly as his traitorous mind comes up with it. 

“Really? I didn’t think that’d work,” Keith jokes, following him to the kitchen with a crooked smile. 

“Well,” he answers, drawing out the sound of the word, and that’s when Keith knows there’s a catch. Lance turns from the opened refrigerator to face him, looking up at Keith with comically wide eyes. “I do have a favor to ask, and you aren’t gonna like it, but you’ll at least consider it because I’m the best roommate and cook ever.”

“Debatable,” Keith retorts flatly, rolling his eyes at Lance’s theatrics. “What is it?”

“Tomorrow is New Years Eve,” he begins slowly, as if he’s anxious about it. “My team is having that party we have every year, and I know you don’t really like stuff like that, but I did just break that record and stuff, so it’ll be different than it usually is and—”

“Come on, Lance. What is it?” Keith interrupts his rambling. He suspects that Lance is going to ask him to go to the party, but he honestly doesn’t know why Lance seems so uneasy about asking. Maybe he expects Keith to directly deny the request, since he stopped partying when they moved out of the dorms. 

“Will you come with me?” he asks all in one breath, as if it’s one syllable. He’s no longer looking at Keith, instead gazing intently at a spot over his shoulder. His posture is even affected by his demeanor, because he’s hunched over slightly and nervously wringing his hands together. Keith stares at him for a second, debating how to answer the question without giving in immediately or rejecting the favor completely. 

“Why do you want me there anyway? I’m not even fun to party with,” he protests, but he knows that nothing he says will get Lance to take back the invitation. “I’ll either stay sober and awkward or end up _way_ too drunk.”

“I don’t care what you do,” Lance whines, “I just want you to come with me! It’ll be good to get out, I swear.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promises, but it’s understood by both of them that Keith has already given in. When Lance finally looks him in the eye again, his gaze is just so purely happy that Keith knows he would never even consider saying no — not even for a minute, not even for a second.

After all, he’s always been weak when it comes to Lance.


	5. Chapter 5

“Keith, come on, I know you’re nervous. But it’ll be fine! It might even be great! And if it isn’t all that great, we can watch whatever you want when you get home, and you can forget it ever happened.”

Keith huffs with a sarcastic sigh, attempting to hide his growing smile at the reassurances. In one last attempt of protest, he narrows his eyes and jokingly glares at Lance, who stands broadly, eyebrows expectantly raised.

“Fine,” Keith rolls his eyes, "Then you have to help me pick out a shirt.”

And, immediately, Lance’s face lights up as he hurries to Keith’s closet, chattering endlessly and tossing aside various outfits. Eventually, Keith gets tired of Lance trashing all of his fashion choices, so he pushes him out in favor of making the decision on his own. In retrospect, it was probably the right thing for Keith to do, rather than have Lance dress him in something ridiculous or flashy.

In the end, he settles on a deep red button-up, which he cuffs around his elbows, paired with ripped dark jeans and combat boots. He looks himself up and down, deciding that he could do one more thing to improve his appearance: his hair.

He searches through a few drawers to find the hairclip he’d once been gifted as a joke, and sets it on the counter. When he’d used it sarcastically the day he got it, Lance had actually complimented how he looked with it in. He’d said that Keith had a “pretty face” and told him to wear his hair back more often so people could actually see him. Of course, Keith never had, since he thought he’d looked dumb, but he thought things might be different tonight.

It was foolish for Keith to hope for another compliment like that, but he was past the point of caring.

Using a very small amount of Lance’s gel, Keith gathered his bangs from his face and brought them back. With some more hair, Keith uses the clip, then takes a look at himself in the mirror. Half his hair is pinned up, while the other half remains at his shoulders. The reflection that stares back at Keith is almost unrecognizable; he’d never really seen himself like that.

Keith definitely wouldn’t call himself pretty, but still, he knows that it’s not a bad look on him.

Though a stubborn piece of hair refuses to cooperate and falls across his forehead, Keith deems himself ready and heads out to see Lance.

He finds him in the kitchen, fastening on a shiny watch to his left wrist. When Keith clears his throat, he turns around so they face each other. Lance is wearing something similar to him — a blue dress shirt, covered by a long coat and paired with dark pants. For a moment, Lance looks him up and down, as if surprised or impressed, and then coughs awkwardly once into his elbow. Within seconds, he's grinning smugly. “You clean up well.”

“Guess so,” Keith returns with a smile just as cheeky, before heading toward the door. “Let's get this over with.”

“That's the spirit, Keith! Way to be optimistic.”

* * *

The moment they step into the party, Keith already feels out of place. It’s slightly less fancy than he and Lance had anticipated, so they’re both a bit overdressed. Most of the people there are dressed like they’re attending a frat party, which makes Keith cringe slightly.

Lance apologizes profusely for the nature of the get-together, and despite Keith’s evident unease, he reassures Lance that it’s all fine. 

Truthfully, he’s a little excited by the idea of him and Lance standing out. The thought is only solidified by the reactions of Lance’s teammates when they see him and Keith together. Lance interprets Keith’s stiffness as a result of the attention, so he keeps him close, at his side and on his arm. Everyone gawks at them, and Keith blushes smugly. 

As much as he wants to feel guilty for his daydreaming, he doesn’t. It really isn’t a big deal. So what? It isn’t the worst thing in the world that people think he’s Lance’s boyfriend, if only for the night. 

They’re handed drinks within moments of their arrival, and Lance makes his way to the closest friends he’s made on the team. He drags Keith along with him, of course, and he follows blindly. They sit around a couch, all happily sipping cheap beer and talking about the recent competition. 

When someone brings up Lance’s broken record, the group grows attentive, focused on Lance’s response and probable excitement about the achievement. However, Lance doesn’t boast pridefully. In fact, he just nudges Keith with his elbow and nods in affirmation, “I’m quite a lucky guy.”

The reaction only enhances the flush on Keith’s cheeks. 

“We’ve been telling you that all along, buddy,” someone responds, their name meaningless to Keith, who’s caught off guard by the entire exchange. There’s something off, Keith thinks. It seems as if everyone is talking about something other than Lance’s record, but he doesn’t really have a chance to interpret it, because the topic of conversation shifts to something else Keith doesn’t pay attention to. He’s left wondering what he could’ve possibly missed in the past few minutes.

The party is loud and, truthfully, giving Keith an immense headache. The thrumming bass of the music pounds throughout the entirety of his body and makes him slightly nauseous, but it’s bearable. He’s here for Lance. Still, though, the atmosphere is light years away from his comfort zone. There are people making out in every corner, others doing keg stands, and even some passed out on couches, though it was barely even an acceptable hour for that. It makes Keith a little sick as he remembers the days when he used to party that hard, just to forget what he’d been struggling with.

His thoughts are interrupted rudely when Lance’s _song_ comes on, and Keith already know what’s about to happen before it does.

“I love this song!” Lance shouts over the blaring music, as he turns to face Keith with a wide grin. He grabs for Keith’s wrist and tugs him to stand, which makes Keith hesitantly stand. The very last thing he wants to do is make a fool of himself in front of all of these people, especially to a song as cheesy as this one. He’s not even _slightly_ drunk enough to consider this, let alone follow through. 

But, of course, it's Lance, so he can barely resist the opportunity to be close to him.

They stumble on their feet a little — the crowd has become significantly denser since they arrived — and Keith finds himself face-to-face with Lance, dangerously close. Keith can sense the pure happiness on him, and honestly, it makes him a little giddy. 

The crowd shifts as the song does, and it only serves to intensify Keith’s situation. He ends up having to brace himself on Lance, hands flat on his chest as people push them together. It’s familiar and comfortable for Keith, and Lance doesn’t seem to be phased at all. In fact, Keith would almost swear that he’s smiling wider, like he’s amused by Keith’s proximity. 

Lance reaches forward with one hand and tucks a fallen strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. 

For a moment, Keith freezes, until he realizes that he probably looks terrified. He blushes so deeply that he can feel the heat on his cheeks; the look Lance is giving him certainly doesn’t do him any good. He’s gazing down at Keith with hopeful eyes and a genuine smile. Lance leans forward, impossibly closer so Keith can hear, and shouts his name. “Keith! Dance with me!”

“Absolutely not,” he denies immediately, looking away and trying to create space between them — which proves useless. They only get closer, so their chests are touching. Lance’s hands falls to his shoulder, then to his waist, where he then rests on Keith’s hip.

Keith really doesn't want to dance; he was content just being close to Lance in the crowd.

“Come on,” Lance persists, beginning to sway along with the upbeat tempo, gently coaxing Keith to move along with him. The steadying hold he has on Keith is alluring, and though he knows he needs to pull himself free and sit back down, he’s just having a hard time gathering the courage to say no to Lance. 

“You know I don’t dance in public,” Keith half-shouts over the pounding bass. “Find someone else to put up with you,” he jokes, but as soon as the words come out, he regrets them for a myriad of reasons — most prominently for the way Lance’s face falls with genuine disappointment. Keith had been expecting Lance to pull away, to give him space, to leave it be, but he wasn’t expecting Lance to look truly upset at the rejection. 

Lance plays it off with nonchalance, though. “Fine,” he scoffs, shoving Keith off him with slightly more force than necessary. It stings. “Go have fun brooding, then.”

They separate with a certain tenseness, and the crowd seems to part for Keith as he disappears from the scene. It’s almost as if people sense his mood and become wary of him. As hard as it is, Keith tries to push the incident from his mind and convince himself that nothing happened. Lance is probably just mad he’s being a wet blanket — nothing serious, of course. Keith is just imagining things. Everything was fine. 

Things will blow over, Keith reasons. Lance will probably forget within a few minutes and come looking for him. He’ll probably hand him a drink, crack a joke, and everything will be fine once again. 

Except that isn’t what happens. 

Instead, Keith spends the next half hour alone, idly nursing a drink that had gone warm long ago. He scans the crowd obsessively, trying to search for Lance and unable to accept the possibility that maybe he escaped to a bedroom, hand-in-hand with a girl Keith can’t name. The thought of it alone stirs malignant jealousy in his gut, so he tries to force it away from his mind. 

It takes a little longer and some pacing for Keith to finally pick out Lance. He’s on a couch far in a corner, and he’s got a blonde girl tucked under his arm. 

After another few minutes of staring, Lance finally looks in Keith’s direction and immediately latches onto his gaze. They glare hard at each other, as if it’s a test of strength, until Lance gets distracted by the girl talking to him. She has a hand on his arm — the one that encircles her shoulders and tugs her closer, as if mocking Keith. He starts to wonder if Lance is testing his patience or just being cruel. Does he know how Keith feels? Is he just trying to rub this in Keith’s face now?

Lance’s posture has significantly stiffened, though, and Keith counts that as a victory — despite the fact that Lance has been winning whatever they’ve been doing this entire time. 

Keith finds it extremely hard to believe that Lance is so worked up because Keith simply didn’t want to dance. They know each other well — well enough that Lance should know that Keith doesn’t dance. It’s been something he’s expressed since freshman year, back when they were young and naive, back when an argument wasn’t uncommon. 

It only takes ten more minutes of intermittent eye contact for Keith to reach his breaking point.

He turns abruptly from where he’d been standing and practically stomps in the direction of the exit. On his way, he runs into numerous people, but he doesn’t even bother to stop and apologize for what his actions cause. He’s too frustrated, too angry, too _upset_ to care about anything or anyone besides himself. 

Worst of all, he’s absolutely humiliated. He made an absolute fool out of himself for Lance — had gotten dressed up, even did his hair — for Lance to just ignore him the entire night after one petty disagreement. The realization of his mistake stings painfully, but it’s not nearly as jarring as the slam of the front door when Keith finally gets out of that horrible place and rushes toward the stairs that will carry him out of the building as well. 

The second he reaches the street, his hair is messed up by the harsh, cold wind. It’s only fitting, Keith thinks. 

Footsteps, fast and heavy, echo his own; he doesn’t even have to look to know that Lance is the one calling his name and shamelessly chasing him down the street. Keith quickens his pace, but Lance catches him eventually, having jogged to catch up. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder, who decides to turn around. He all but growls, eyebrows knitted with anger. “What do _you_ want?”

“Why did you leave?” Lance interrogates, jostling Keith’s shoulder. “And how are you going to get home? I have the keys.” As if to confirm his point, he holds them up and jingles them in Keith’s face — who abruptly snatches them and turns away, ready to flee, but Lance grabs him again.

“Fuck off,” Keith spits, not even turning to face him while he talks, so Lance walks in front of him and in his path, refusing to budge. It only serves to piss Keith off even more, who blows up with anger — which, admittedly, was predictable given his personality. Lance should’ve known better than to act the way he was. Keith is _furious_ now. “Why the fuck did you bring me to this damn party, anyway? So you could taunt me and tease me as much as you wanted, then ditch me the second you find someone more interesting? Am I really that expendable to you? Have I always just been an accessory? Something to keep around while you’re alone or bored? That’s fucking _awful_ , Lance, even for you.”

The barrage of accusations Keith makes is followed by the booming noise of fireworks and the accompanying explosion of light above their heads. 

Keith scoffs — both at the irony and at Lance’s bewildered silence. 

He doesn’t even attempt to withhold the hurt in his expression anymore, just lets his eyebrows knit in aggravation and his arms fold around his torso as a defense mechanism. He knows Lance sees it, knows Lance understands the effect of his lack of reaction, and that only makes things worse. 

Keith would almost swear that his rapid heartbeat — intensified by his own outburst — rivals the volume of the fireworks above.

Lance takes a tentative step forward, cautionary and gauging Keith’s reaction, and leans into Keith’s space. Keith, on the other hand, is frozen to the spot by both panic and anger. He isn’t about to give in, to give Lance the satisfaction of caving first; he stands his ground, firm and unmoving. The fireworks are loud and only increasing in intensity. It must have turned midnight, Keith guesses, though the thought isn’t exactly significant. 

And with a sudden surge of movement, Lance leans forward and kisses him.

Lance _kisses_ him.

In the moment, Keith can’t move, can’t respond, can’t even process what is happening. It lasts barely a few seconds of Lance’s lips pressed to his own, and it’s simultaneously the best and worst few seconds of Keith’s entire life. He can’t even think to move or respond; his brain is in overdrive from the whirlwind of emotion he’s experiencing. He doesn’t know whether to kiss Lance or hit him, whether to laugh or cry, whether to push Lance away or pull him closer. 

Consequently, he does absolutely nothing.

The kiss is nothing short of awkward, because Keith just stands there, letting it happen, while Lance presses his lips to Keith’s and holds there, hands gripping his arms. It’s definitely nothing that Keith would remember as noteworthy — of course, if it weren’t _Lance_ , his best friend, his roommate, who he's loved for years, kissing him.

It is Lance, though, and Keith can’t even move to do anything about it. That fact alone makes it nothing short of awful.

Lance pulls away the second he realizes both what he’s done and Keith’s lack of reaction — judging by the horrified look on his face. They take a moment to stare at each other, both in bewilderment of their current situation, before Lance blinks twice, shakes his head, and Keith just stays frozen, watching Lance. He takes a few frantic steps backward with a gasping breath, and immediately, he starts spouting profuse apologies, “I’m sorry, I—I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Why…” Keith whispers, trailing off. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m sorry, I just— I was trying to get you to calm down! It was a mistake, a misunderstanding,” he rambles, and Keith can’t even bear to look at his face. Lance lets out a nervous laugh and continues to make the situation a million times worse than it’d been. 

Keith just stares at the ground, face burning in shame. 

“I thought," Lance stutters, "I mean, I guess I read the situation wrong,” he shrugs, punctuated with a haphazard chuckle. He looks down at his feet, at his leg that shakes nervously, and shrugs again, as if to enunciate how uncomfortable he is. “No harm, no foul, right? We can just forget that ever happened.”

If it hadn't been for the deafening fireworks above them, Keith thinks he'd be able to hear the sound of his heart snapping in two.

“This is amusing to you, isn’t it?” Keith demands, visibly stiffening at his own tone, which betrays the hurt he’d been trying to conceal. “This is funny, huh? It’s funny to watch me make a fool of myself in front of you. It’s funny when you make believe you care. It’s funny when you slow dance with me in your childhood bedroom. It’s funny when I try so hard to get your attention, doing my hair and dressing nice and— and for what?! For you to kiss me just for the hell of it? Then call it a mistake?”

Lance only stares with widened eyes, absolutely silent, as Keith falls to pieces right in front of his eyes.

“Whatever, then,” Keith huffs, turning his back to Lance once more. His voice is now detached, deadpan, emotionless — just as drained as he feels — like all the emotion has seeped out of him and dripped through the gaping hole in his chest. He should’ve known better than to come to this awful party, he thinks. Parties never end well, and tonight was no exception. Keith crosses his arms over his chest defensively and hides his face with his fallen hair. “I guess I just thought you’d be gentle when you broke my heart. I didn’t think you could be this cruel.”

Once again, Lance only stares at him. 

“Typical,” Keith growls, and turns his back on the one person he never thought would hurt him. Before Lance can protest, Keith starts to walk away. He’s not fleeing, not storming away, just taking small steps with a hunched and defeated posture. At this point, he’s not even trying to guilt-trip Lance. Keith just doesn’t think he could act like he’s mad — he’s just hurt and _tired_. It’s a detrimental combination. 

With unshed tears collecting in his eyes, Keith realizes the weight of what just happened. He and Lance will never be the same again.

And when Lance doesn’t even attempt to follow him, Keith decides not to go home.

* * *

He finds an Irish pub pretty quickly, and within minutes of entering, there’s a drink in his hand and a man at his side, both of which he regards with hesitance. 

In regards to the former, he hadn’t really wanted to drink. He’s always been bad at holding his alcohol, and it gives him bad memories of his earlier years. Drinking never really helped dissolve his pain, which was a hard and important lesson he’d learned. In regards to the latter, Keith certainly isn’t opposed to a hook-up, but he’s in a weak mental state. Though the flirty man is attractive and enticing, Keith doesn’t want to make any decisions that he might regret the next morning. 

“Come on,” the man whispers into his ear, making the hair on his neck stand up. “Let me take you home, beautiful.”

The offer is admittedly harder to turn down than Keith expects. 

The man’s touch is gentle but electrifying, yet Keith shakes it off and inches away. He sets his glass firmly on the counter and shakes his head adamantly. “I appreciate your interest,” Keith explains. “I’m just not looking for anything tonight.”

“What a shame,” the man smirks, but relents immediately. He vacates the barstool and strolls off, clearly looking for someone else he can seduce. It makes Keith’s stomach flip uncomfortably — not from the man’s actions but mostly from his Casanova-esque style that resembles Lance’s when they used to party together. 

The encounter alone convinces him to head home. 

It’s nearing the point in the night that the parties cease and everyone returns to their loved ones. Fireworks no longer light up the sky, and noise no longer pollutes the streets. Keith, walking alone and slightly intoxicated, would be afraid if he weren’t particularly skilled in self defense. His footsteps echo on the vacant sidewalks, but his path is lit by street lamps, thankfully. He wonders if Lance got home safe, then rids himself of the thought as quickly as he came up with it. 

Once he’s back in his apartment, he decides not to go to bed immediately. Though the clock tells him it’s nearing 3am, he wants a shower. 

It’s cathartic, in a way. He washes the unpleasant memories of the day off of him with shampoo and cleans himself of any lingering emotion — until he’s feeling fresh and clean of his foolish mistakes and unrealistic desires. It lifts a weight from his chest; finally, he feels like he can take a deep breath again. 

He leaves the bathroom once he’s combed his hair out, taken out his contacts, and brushed his teeth. He passes by Lance’s room without a second glance in its direction, due to two likely possibilities of what he could find. Truthfully, both make him sick to his stomach with hurt. 

Lance could be in bed with someone else, or not even be in his room at all. 

He’s not sure which outcome would hurt worse, but regardless, he doesn’t want to face either of them. He’d much rather live in blissful ignorance. He’d much rather let himself think that Lance is in his bed, safe, asleep, and most importantly, alone. That way, Keith can pretend for a second that Lance feels even _slightly_ guilty for what he did today, for how he hurt Keith in a way that seemed irreparable. That way, Keith can pretend that he’s not meaningless and unimportant to Lance, after all they’d been through. 

Despondently, he curls into bed and wills himself to forget it all happened. 

It isn't as easy as that, though. He knows he won't be able to continue normally after this; things between him and Lance will never be the same. He's even worried that Lance will move out, horrified by Keith's clearly unrequited feelings and unable to live with him. The idea is gut-wrenching — like the floor is being ripped from underneath him. Losing Lance would be world-ending, soul-crushing, heart-breaking. Keith’s entire life would fall apart without him. 

He just _can’t_ lose Lance. He can't. 

Not long after he's settled in bed, his door creaks open slowly. He freezes.

Keith closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep, knowing it can only be Lance in the doorway. Still, the idea of him showing up to Keith’s room is so outlandish that Keith almost thinks he’s imagining things. There's no reason at all for Lance to show up. It doesn't make any sense. 

Soft footsteps pad into his room, closer and closer to his bed. Keith tries to remain unmoving, but his heart is racing. The footsteps stop at his bed, and there’s a minute of a pause, like Lance is just staring at him. 

And then, the bed dips, and Lance is _getting in bed with him._

At first, he just lies there next to Keith, unmoving and hesitant. Keith does the same, refusing to reveal that he’s not actually sleeping. He focuses on the sound of Lance’s breathing and tries his best to calm his own. It’s useless, because his heart is pounding so goddamn loud that he could swear it could be heard throughout the silent entire apartment. 

As if Keith couldn't get any more confused, Lance huffs loudly — as if exasperated somehow — then rolls over so he's facing Keith's back. And then, Lance puts an arm around his waist and holds him tightly. 

Keith is frozen; he doesn't think he could move if he tried. Lance doesn't become discouraged, though. He just stays there, chest pressed to Keith’s back. His face is in Keith's hair, and his breathing is deep and relaxed. In any other circumstance, this might relax Keith. It's not rare that they share beds or cuddle, but the context of this situation is different. 

Because this _means_ something. 

His suspicions are confirmed when Lance nuzzles his face into the back of Keith's neck and gently presses a soft kiss there.

It tickles a little, and Keith tries not to flinch. He can't, however, withhold the goosebumps that appear on his skin, but he thinks Lance doesn't notice because he doesn't move away. In fact, he moves closer, holds Keith a little tighter, and sighs contentedly. He whispers quietly, “I love you.”

Keith doesn't even try to suppress his smile. 

Things would be different in the morning now, no matter what, just like Keith had thought merely minutes prior. He and Lance will never go back to how they used to be. They'll never be _just_ best friends ever again after all of this, but Keith's starting to think it's not such a bad thing after all. 

He knows he's going to prefer this a lot more.


	6. Chapter 6

Soft sunlight wakes Keith. It filters in from the window next to his bed and through the curtains he forgot to close the previous night. 

The clock across from his bed tells him that it’s nearly noon on the first day of the new year. Unfortunately, it means he slept away half the day, but he figures that he needed it after the night he had. He hadn’t actually gotten into bed until around— 

Then, he _remembers._

To his dismay, though, he’s alone in bed. Keith rolls over once, smooths the sheets next to him with a broad palm, searching for any warmth that Lance could have possibly left. There’s nothing. He’s just alone. It should surprise Keith more than it does, but he partially expected it. What happened last night was probably a mistake in Lance’s eyes, something stupid he did while intoxicated. 

But, then again, Lance had _told_ Keith that he loved him. How could that mean nothing? How could that possibly be some strange mistake? 

Just because Lance isn’t in bed with him anymore doesn’t mean that everything will go back to normal between them. It isn’t the end. Keith just has to talk to him and find out what he’s thinking. Maybe Lance just panicked and needed some time to come to terms with things. That would be perfectly normal. Even Keith, who’s been in love for years, would need time to adjust if they were suddenly in a relationship. It was totally normal.

Keith convinces himself that when he leaves his bed and sees Lance, everything will be fine. 

With hope churning his stomach, Keith slips out of his bed and leaves his bedroom. He debates brushing his teeth and taming his hair before he looks for Lance, but he decides against it. Lance has already seen him at his worst, thanks to being roommates for so long. Lance wouldn’t be fazed by some bedhead. It’s the least of his worries. 

The hallway floor is cold on his feet as he walks. He can smell something cooking — eggs. It’s typical of Lance after a long night, especially when alcohol is involved. 

Keith could really go for eggs right now — even scrambled, Lance’s preferred method. They smell good. It contributes to the morning warmth of their apartment, and Keith finds himself much more calm than he was when woke up, yet still nervous about how things are going to be when they see each other. 

He doesn’t know what he expects when he walks into the kitchen, but what he gets is satisfying in every possible way. It’s a sight he’s woken up to for years: Lance, in just boxers, facing the stovetop as sunlight filters through his hair and illuminates him. His hips sway slightly to the song he’s humming happily. It’s a beautiful sight — to Keith, nothing compares. Something about it is admittedly different, though. Something has changed. Keith hopes it’s for the better. His breath catches in his throat as he waits for what might happen next. 

Lance doesn’t hear him walk in. He just continues to work over the sizzling pan, oblivious to everything else. 

“I’m going to call my mother tomorrow,” Keith declares out of nowhere, loud and abrupt. He doesn’t know where it comes from or why he says it, but it needed to be said. It has no relevance to anything they’d endured within the past twenty four hours, but yet for some reason, it seems like the _right thing_. Maybe that’s just Lance’s effect on Keith. Maybe Lance just makes him want to fix things. Maybe he’s moving toward a better place in his life, with the help of the person he’s loved most since the day they met. 

There’s a brief pause of silence. Lance stops humming, swaying, cooking. And then, he turns. He’s grinning so widely, so brilliantly, so happily, that Keith is almost blinded by the sight of it. 

He doesn’t say anything — doesn’t even _have_ to. He just turns back around when Keith returns the smile with equal enthusiasm and continues cooking the eggs for another minute or two, while Keith wonders how in the world he got so goddamn lucky. 

This is it. This is the _good thing_ he’d spent so long waiting for. 

That smile is his now. He never thought he’d see the day that Lance smiled at him like that, with the implication of pure love. It’s funny how things work out, Keith thinks. Everything turns around when you least expect it, when you feel like everything is falling apart. Keith doesn’t know who to thank for the luck he’s gained. 

Keith always thought that with Lance in his corner, he could conquer the world, but with Lance loving him, he’s already on top of it. There’s nothing left for him to conquer. 

He stands there, staring, for god knows how long. He’s just basking in the feeling of mutual love while Lance cooks. They don’t face each other. The eggs finish, and Lance reaches up to grab for two plates; his movements are painted with joy. 

Keith watches him shut the stove off, place the pan in the sink, all without turning around to face Keith. It doesn’t matter. They both _know_ nothing is ever going to come between them again, after all they’d been through to reach this point in their lives. Now, they’ve gotten over it all. Now, they can focus on the upsides and enjoy the time they have together. Now, they can be _in love_.

Finally, Lance turns around to face Keith, holding two plates of eggs. His signature grin is back, as unabashed and brilliant as ever. Keith can’t help but stare at his face and wonder how he got so lucky, but Lance interrupts his thoughts, holding out the two plates of eggs. 

On one plate, the eggs are scrambled, and on the other — for the first time _ever_ — the eggs are sunny-side up.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was a very long journey, written a very long time ago, but im so proud of how it came out! i'm excited to share and looking forward to feedback!!!
> 
> ALSO a very big big thank you to @periwinkler for creating such amazing art for this fic. I could not have asked for a better representation for my story :) [here's a link](https://periwinkler.tumblr.com/post/184916521815/heres-the-art-i-made-for-koganewest-s-amazing) to support her art! 
> 
> thank you for reading till the end  
> -lily


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